Kennicott's whine is even more evidence, if we needed it, that the convoluted, insulated little world of The Art Club has lost any connection it ever had with anything outside of it.
Trump has been likened to Ajax. Trump's manner (the manner common in the borough of Queens, NY, from whence Trump came) which his opposition hoped would be enough to fuel their endless stunts meant to destroy him so they wouldn't have to defeat him fair and square, didn't mean anything to regular voters.
So now the The Art Club, instead of licking wounds and learning from the preceding bout, offers pitiful whines, which you respectfully demonstrate are easily enough sliced and diced.
Franklin, though you have made Kennicott more useful than he could be on his own, he remains wanly generic and vaguely embarrassing, though not as embarrassing as anyone who'd pay him for writing such twaddle. If he is so concerned with barbarism, he might try his hand at the monstrosity of the "grooming" gangs scandal in England, which of course he will not touch. Talk about effete.
...in a talk titled "Wither [sic] Contemporary Art.")
On some level, I agree. On the other hand, last night we started some sauerkraut, today I'm putting a new battery in the tractor, and this whole argument with Kissick might as well be happening on the moon. I'll comment in these pages if I can discern some signal in the noise.
Kennicott's piece strikes me as an affirmation of political correctness aimed at his coreligionists--and it is a religion, or a substitute for one, not to say a cult. But, whatever one's religion or politics may be, that has little bearing on one's fitness as an art writer, which depends primarily on the quality of one's eye (assuming one has an eye for art). Still, these people must signal.
I am reminded of Pauline Kael's classic reaction to Nixon beating McGovern, for which she was apparently unprepared because practically nobody she knew had voted for Nixon. Of course, living in a bubble no doubt has its appeal, not least the sense of being above those who don't.
Kennicott's whine is even more evidence, if we needed it, that the convoluted, insulated little world of The Art Club has lost any connection it ever had with anything outside of it.
Trump has been likened to Ajax. Trump's manner (the manner common in the borough of Queens, NY, from whence Trump came) which his opposition hoped would be enough to fuel their endless stunts meant to destroy him so they wouldn't have to defeat him fair and square, didn't mean anything to regular voters.
So now the The Art Club, instead of licking wounds and learning from the preceding bout, offers pitiful whines, which you respectfully demonstrate are easily enough sliced and diced.
Franklin, though you have made Kennicott more useful than he could be on his own, he remains wanly generic and vaguely embarrassing, though not as embarrassing as anyone who'd pay him for writing such twaddle. If he is so concerned with barbarism, he might try his hand at the monstrosity of the "grooming" gangs scandal in England, which of course he will not touch. Talk about effete.
You should be sitting down with Kissick at the SVA theater - not the RS girls
(For those not following, Dean Kissick, the author of an essay making the rounds...
https://harpers.org/archive/2024/12/the-painted-protest-dean-kissick-contemporary-art/
... will be speaking at SVA in a few days with the hosts of the Red Scare podcast...
https://www.instagram.com/p/DDIVPFLoP7n/
...in a talk titled "Wither [sic] Contemporary Art.")
On some level, I agree. On the other hand, last night we started some sauerkraut, today I'm putting a new battery in the tractor, and this whole argument with Kissick might as well be happening on the moon. I'll comment in these pages if I can discern some signal in the noise.
One of your better ones. Keep it up!
Kennicott's piece strikes me as an affirmation of political correctness aimed at his coreligionists--and it is a religion, or a substitute for one, not to say a cult. But, whatever one's religion or politics may be, that has little bearing on one's fitness as an art writer, which depends primarily on the quality of one's eye (assuming one has an eye for art). Still, these people must signal.
I am reminded of Pauline Kael's classic reaction to Nixon beating McGovern, for which she was apparently unprepared because practically nobody she knew had voted for Nixon. Of course, living in a bubble no doubt has its appeal, not least the sense of being above those who don't.